Last week, from the other side of my mobile connection, I was greeted with this. “Goodmorning. My name is Walter. I was trying to reach someone from Cradle of Love. Shae, is that you?”
“Yes, I’m Shae Beery. I heard you needed to talk to me about Pendo?”
The man continued, “You know her best, yes?”
Not being sure where this was going, I just answered his question in anticipation that we would get to the point of this call quickly.
“Yes, sir. I know Pendo well. I was a volunteer at Cradle of Love when she came to us and I probably know her history better than anyone else. What do you need to know? What’s wrong? Is everything ok?”
So with that awkward intro, Walter from the Happy Watoto Children’s Home went on to explain the current situation with my lovely Pendo. Apparently, he is the social welfare director for Happy Watoto. He explained that they had some concern that Pendo was deaf/mute. Deaf/mute? Seriously? It was obvious that he or his staff really didn’t know her, but whatever! I kept attentive. He went on to tell of his suspicions why she wasn’t talking, why he and his staff had came to that conclusion and his theories on her health in general. As I was listening to him speak, I couldn’t help but envision the malnourished, near death, 14 lb. two-year-old that was presented to me on that Friday in early September, 2010. And all I could process in my mind was that this guy REALLY had no idea what he was talking about. It was my turn to speak.
“So, you are also concerned about her legs? Am I understanding you correctly?” I squaked back at him through the bad cellular connection.
“Yes, her legs seem to be the same length. She appears quite healthy. But she walks a little strange and she definitely cannot run.”
I took a breath and started the explanation. “Well, you know that she was severely malnourished, right? I mean, personally, I’ve never seen a child that bad who lived and is as healthy as she is now. Really. You have no idea how hard we fought for her.” From his reaction on the other end, I could tell that he honestly had no idea about any of it.
I went on to tell him about her physical condition when she came to Cradle of Love. I told him how long it took for us to appreciate physical characteristics (i.e. her dimples) due to her lack of body fat and muscle tone. I discussed with him her depression and her cleverness at rejecting food and water in effort to welcome death. Because that is what she was inviting; she wanted to die. I explained to him that the biggest fight we had with her was not in building up her physical body. Rather, our biggest challenge was convincing her to trust us, encouraging her to happiness, and reminding her to live. I told him about the problems in her hips and how long it took her to walk. I explained that there was a bald patch on the side of her hair where malnutrition had injured her scalp and may have permanently damaged her hair follicle. And I told him about her fear of children touching her during her recovery as she knew that her body was weak and susceptible to injury.
Over the next 15 minutes I outlined a timetable of her development from depression to full laughter to babbling and walking. I detailed her attachment to specific individuals and her ability to verbalize, manipulate, play, and banter. He kept stopping me to ask more questions and I could sense that small revelations were going off in his brain. He kept telling me “She began talking? Wow.” Or “I didn’t realize she was that sick”. He kept repeating “now I understand,” “now this makes sense,” “that’s why she does that.” I didn’t want to overstep my bounds, but I asked if he wanted my opinion. And of course, he did.
“Honestly, she has endured so much in such a short span of life. She knows everything. She remembers everything. In addition to having an ongoing battle with ear infections, I think her biggest deterrent to speaking and interacting is fear and abandonment. Sir, I think she’s depressed again.” And with that, the tears filled my eyes and the most giant lump developed in my throat.
He spent the next ten minutes raving on and on about how keenly observant I was with this child. He repeatedly invited me to come see her more and help them develop a plan to help her. He commended me for my visiting with her even though she was no longer at Cradle of Love. There were so many more things that he said to me this morning, but honestly, I don’t remember all of it.
All I could think about in that moment is how I failed her. And how in feeling like a failure I wasn’t helping her, but playing a pity party for myself. I felt sick. I think I still do.
I slowly came back into the conversation and explained to him that I observed how she is trusting some of the children at the new home more than adults. I told him to tap into that. Before we concluded he said to me, “Shae, you have mentioned many times this morning how Pendo ‘remembers everything’ and thus reacting off of the hard life she’s led. Are you saying that she is bright? How can a three year old be that clever? Its remarkable, really.”
“Yes, she is bright.” I replied. “So bright. And it’s the thing that is holding her together. She’s a survivor. But also, it fosters darkness in her because she has been emotionally hurt too many times. And that is something she doesn’t forget. So why should she talk to any of us. We’ve only repeatedly abandoned her and thrown her into situations that she didn’t ask for.” And with that, our conversation was over and proper salutations were exchanged.
But for me, in my mind, the conversation is not over. It won’t ever be over. I feel like I sacrificed one child over another. And the guilt just pours in because I would choose Happy over Pendo anyday. Happy is my daughter and she will always be number one. And I look at my pictures of Pendo where her face is all aglow and feel such guilt that the glow is gone.
But the nanny inside me --that was really just a mother in disguise --keeps reminding me that I love Pendo too. And that I have to choose her, too. But what can I do? My heart is still beating, but I am pretty sure that my chest got ripped open this morning. Still, my pain? Doesn’t come close to hers.
As much as I want to control, I concede that I must surrender this one over to God. Totally. Completely. But to be honest, still hesitantly. I have to thank Him for allowing me to advocate on Pendo’s behalf. And I have to hand it over, and let the guilt go. Jodie will have words to share on this one. But all she has to share is her love. I know what I have to do. Sweet surrender… I think this blog title just revealed itself.
~Shae
This is the sad Pendo now. I can't get her to smile or laugh for anything.
Only five more days until I board a plane bound for the United States. I cannot believe that 6 months have already passed. But as much as I am excited about baking a Turkey on Thursday and busting out Susan and Karen's PERFECT APPLE PIE, I am still sad that I have to leave Happy here in Arusha. Just look at that cute round face. It will be hard to leave her for so many reasons... one being that she will turn two years old while I am gone and I am going to miss it! We will have a big celebration upon my return!! 
